


Underneath the Tide

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: The Lion, the Wolf and the Dragon [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dothraki, Dragons, Dragonstone, Gen, Ironborn - Freeform, Reunions, Sailing, Unsullied - Freeform, Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: It wasn't until the day of their departure that Arya discovered how Daenerys had a fleet large enough to sail to Westeros with her army.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Second installment of this series :) I know not many are reading, but those who are, hope you like it
> 
> Title from the song by Mayday Parade

It was on the morning of their departure that Arya discovered how Daenerys had acquired enough ships to set sail with her army.

 

The Greyjoys and their men had stayed with their ships rather than stay in the great pyramid, even Theon and Asha. Daenerys had informed them before of their new companion, but somehow it slipped everyone’s minds to tell Arya about Theon.

 

“Arya—” Theon began as she stormed forward.

 

“You killed my brothers!” she cried out, angry tears filling her eyes as she shoved his chest. He stumbled back and didn’t try to block the punch to his stomach. “You’re a murderer! He’s a _murderer!_ ” Her hand went for the ever-present sword at her hip before Grey Worm sprang forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her back. “ _No_!” she sobbed, struggling with everything she had.

 

“Arya, _Arya!_ ” Tyrion yelled, stepping in front of her. “He did not kill your brothers!” The words didn’t seem to reach her at first, but she went limp. Grey Worm cautiously put her back on her feet but didn’t let go of her. “Whatever else Theon Greyjoy is guilty of, he is innocent of that.” He touched her hand and then took it firmly in both of his when she didn’t pull away. “My Lady Arya, please, listen to what I am telling you.”

 

Arya looked at him and his heart broke for her.

 

Theon came closer until he was next to Tyrion. “I can’t ask for your forgiveness,” he said quietly. “I betrayed Robb. I drove Bran and Rickon away from Winterfell, and then I lost it to the Boltons. But I got your sister out of there. When I last saw her, she was headed North to the Wall, to Jon.” His eyes looked watery too. “If it means anything at all, I am truly sorry for the things that I did.”

 

Arya slowly brought her eyes to his face and went to him, hand sliding from Tyrion’s and Grey Worm letting her go. “Robb loved you like a brother,” she whispered.

 

“And I him,” Theon murmured. “Forgetting that was the worst mistake I ever made. I will never be able to repay your family for the things I did.” Tyrion watched Arya carefully, but her hands were limp at her sides, and when she moved again it was slow. She lifted Theon’s hand in hers to look at the missing fingers and bit her lip. Theon raised his arm and she fell into him, hugging him hard. He was perhaps the first familiar face she had seen in years, and even the strongest of people could not hold out against that for very long. Theon held her to him, nose in her hair and silent tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he choked.

 

Arya pulled away and glared up at him. “Are you loyal to someone now?”

 

“To my sister,” Theon answered. 

 

“Don’t betray her too.” The girl looked at him for a long moment, eyes flitting from his hand to his thinned hair and aged face. “What happened to you?”

 

“I believe that may wait for the sea,” Asha, who Arya hadn’t paid any attention to before now, spoke up. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

 

As the army made up of Ironborn and Dothraki and Unsullied began to board the ships, Daenerys turned her back, eyes searching the skies. A stream of words too quick for Arya to catch fled her lips, and a grating shriek filled the air. Tyrion’s face lit up in a smile, but Arya didn’t miss how Asha and Theon both took a wary step back toward the ships, and how the Dothraki looked awestruck. “What is it?” she murmured to Grey Worm, still beside her.

 

“Dragons,” Missandei breathed, just as the first crested the great pyramid.

 

Arya stopped breathing as all three came into view, stirring a wind with their wings as they fell to the ground with a grace she had never mastered even with a sword. They touched feather-light behind Daenerys, the biggest in the middle and right next to her. The other two stayed a respectful distance away, as though they were somehow lesser, though this couldn’t be true. _The Mother of Dragons._ Daenerys loved them equally, but this black one was hers.

 

Tyrion chuckled and moved forward to the smallest (though not little by any means). The dragon crept closer, settling on its haunches like a cat and still towering over the dwarf. “If you’re going to serve the Dragon Queen,” he said, “you must meet her children.” The green beside him turned to look at him with an intelligent eye. _They aren’t direwolves,_ Arya thought, _but they are just as loyal._

 

Theon and Asha seemed unwilling to get too close, and the Dothraki stayed away out of what looked respect. So Arya stepped forward with Grey Worm steady next to her, eyes flicking from each dragon and back again, until she settled on Daenerys. “What are their names, Your Grace?” she inquired softly, stopping before she reached her, while Missandei kept going until she stood next to her queen.

 

The big black was named Drogon, Daenerys told her. “After the great Khal Drogo, my sun-and-stars, my husband,” she explained. “It was his sacrifice that gave me my dragons. I am his rider, as my ancestors each had their own. Viserion and Rhaegal don’t have riders just yet.”

 

“Will they ever?” When Daenerys frowned, Arya bit her lip. “You’re the last Targaryen."

 

Daenerys looked troubled. “I believe that they may choose their riders,” she said slowly, uncertainly. “And their riders will choose them.”

 

Tyrion spoke from beside the green. “A bond may be forged between a dragon and its rider,” he clarified. “Her Grace is their mother, which is unbreakable. But dragons and riders of the past were never in question of each other. It may be fate that determines it; no one has ever been sure.”

 

All three dragons regarded Arya with interest, as if they had never seen anyone like her. The white—Viserion, she remembered—stepped lightly forward until she could reach out and touch if she wanted to, though she didn’t. “Hello,” she said softly.

 

“Tell them your name,” Daenerys encouraged. “They’ll understand.”

 

“I know they will,” Arya responded, not looking away. “My direwolf knew all my family by name.” She swayed forward enough to feel the warm breath from the dragon in front of her. “A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell,” she added, eyes locked with the hulking creature in front of her. Her voice was so soft she could hardly be heard, but Viserion blinked slowly, settling into a crouch in front of her, seemingly content to return her gaze. Arya swallowed. “May I…?” She was asking the dragon, hand raised just slightly, unmoving. Tyrion watched in amazement as Viserion turned his head and let her fingers brush across the space behind where he knew his ears were meant to be, if they were visible. The breath shook out of Arya and she shivered, closing her eyes. “Thank you.” Viserion huffed out a breath and pressed more firmly into her hand.

 

Daenerys was smiling, violet eyes glowing. “I believe you may be right, Tyrion,” she said. “A Stark, a Lannister and a Targaryen may yet be what can change this world. And now, one last thing.” She turned and whispered to Missandei, who walked forward to speak to one of the Ironborn, who in turn walked up onto a ship ordered for the sails to rise.

 

“You will sail with Theon at his request,” Daenerys said to Arya.

 

“He requested the sail as well,” Asha added as it was hoisted into the air, and Arya gasped. A huge direwolf hung in the air against a grey background. Viserion, still close to Arya, shrieked something that might have been approval.

 

“I know that you wanted your identity to remain a secret.” Daenerys rested a hand atop Arya’s on the dragon’s head. “And it will.”

 

“Your family cared for me,” Theon explained. “For many years, your father treated me as he did you. I want Westeros to remember that. I want them to remember that the Starks rule the North, to fear their name once again. The Starks are not dead. You and Sansa, Bran and Rickon, and Jon Snow—winter is coming, and with it you will come into power again. I know this to be true, as surely as I know that Daenerys Targaryen will rule the Seven Kingdoms and my sister the Iron Islands.”

 

Tyrion smiled as Arya embraced Theon again.

 

**

 

Out on the open sea, there was no need for silence or stealth. If they were intercepted by another fleet, there was not much they could do but fight. So it came as no surprise that, as they sailed, shouting between ships could be heard, disgruntled Dothraki prominent as they slowly adjusted to the sea. Daenerys took to the sway of the ship as though she were born for it, and the experience was much more pleasant for Tyrion this time around, as he was not stuffed inside a wooden box for the duration of it. The dragons seemed to love every second, twisting circles in the air above the fleet.

 

In the first few days, Arya and Theon spent their time getting to know each other again. There was a day when Arya’s yells could be heard from a league away, if not the words themselves. Those who were closer could hear her fury at Ramsey Bolton for mutilating Theon the way that he did, and those on the ship with them watched in cloaked amusement as she forced Theon to sit down and let her examine him from head to toe, despite there being nothing she could do to remedy the situation. “I’m going to kill him,” she said finally.

 

“Not if your sister doesn’t get to him first,” Theon told her. That prompted more questions, and the whole process of Arya shouting in frustration began all over again. She was just as Theon remembered her to be, if a little bit more restrained and definitely more deadly. She carried her blade at her hip always, even though on the sea there was no need for it. When he asked, she told him that, during her time with the Faceless Men, she hadn’t been allowed to keep it. “It stays with me always now,” she said. He didn’t bring it up again.

 

Once a day, she would stand at the stern of the ship and flow from one stance to another, eyes fixed on a point in the horizon. The Ironborn on the ship laughed at her, but she ignored the jeers, and one day, when one tried to mock her movement, he fell flat on his face. The laughter of his companions turned to him instead, and from then on Arya was left alone, though curious glances were shot her way every now and then, and eventually some of the men began to surreptitiously copy her, trying to figure out the reason for it. Half of them woke up wincing with every movement the next morning. Arya smiled at them and said, “If it hurts, you’re doing it right.”

 

“You’re softening my men,” Theon accused her good-naturedly.

 

“It’s the opposite, actually,” and Arya proceeded to explain what each move was meant to do and where she had learned it. Theon listened with interest and even asked her to walk him through some of them. He stumbled his way through it, but Arya was patient enough to let him try again, and then more if he needed to. By the time she declared them finished, he was panting and holding a stitch in his side. “If you like, we can try again tomorrow,” Arya offered. “It’s good to have a diverse fighting technique. Then, in battle, your enemy will have a hard time pinning you down. And it’ll build your strength up.”

 

And so her practice turned into a lesson for the Ironborn, day after day until many of them no longer shook unsteadily on one foot with the rolling of the sea. The days and nights went by and the dragons shrieked overhead, and one morning, the coast was spotted along the horizon.

 

**

 

Dragonstone was on a tiny island just off of Westeros and the fortress was in ruins, but there were plenty of resources to be found and there was space for everyone. The Dothraki had never seen such a place and wandered with interest, examining everything with care that surprised Tyrion. Daenerys chose to explain everything to them herself with his help. Most of the Ironborn chose to remain on their ships for the duration of their stay, but within a few minutes of their arrival Arya was on solid ground and, with Daenerys’ permission, off in search of ravens. Grey Worm and two more Unsullied went with her.

 

The island was buzzing with activity and by nightfall, everyone had found some place or another to settle. Arya practiced her waterdancing on the beach under the light of the moon, and it didn’t take very long for a small group to gather around her in interest. The sight of the Ironborn copying her drew laughter from the Dothraki, and yet it wasn’t derisive from what anyone else could tell. They watched with idle curiosity, murmuring to each other in their gruff language as Arya moved at the center of the circle. Unsullied looked to Grey Worm for permission to join in, and when he himself moved forward, his men gathered behind him. Tyrion wondered if Arya had intended to draw a crowd like this.

 

“What is the purpose?” Daenerys asked Arya when she was finished and the armies dispersed. “It’s beautiful to be sure, but I don’t understand how this would help in battle.”

 

“It’s meant to build strength and flexibility,” Arya explained as patiently as she had to Theon. “It gives the advantage of being unexpected as well, if the enemy doesn’t know your fighting style.” She fought off a yawn and Daenerys smiled like she couldn’t quite help herself. The girls were close in age, Tyrion noticed once again, just a few years apart. Lady Sansa would be even closer.

 

“Get some rest,” Daenerys said kindly. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you come morning.”

 

**

 

It was determined that Arya and a mixed company of Unsullied, Dothraki and Ironborn would go North to Jon Snow at the Wall to inform him of the arrival of the Dragon Queen and her army. Daenerys meant it as a gesture of good will to Jon and reassurance to Arya that she was not a hostage or a prisoner. “But the Watch isn’t meant to be involved in any war,” Arya pointed out, a little confused. “How will my being there help you?” She had spoken so fondly of her bastard brother, but presented with the chance to reunite with him, she was concerned with how it would benefit Daenerys. She certainly was full of surprises.

 

“They don’t need to help fight my war,” Daenerys said. “But if they recognize me as the rightful queen of Westeros, it may come into my favor. Declaring yourself once with your brother as the lost daughter of Ned Stark could shift the North’s loyalties.”

 

“But I want to fight,” Arya protested. “I want to fight for you, Your Grace, and for myself and my family.”

 

“You will fight, Arya,” Tyrion said gently. “You will have to fight with your brother to retake Winterfell from the Boltons. The war will not be over when you are finished, I fear. And if it is…”

 

“Your requests still stand,” Daenerys finished. “Taking Winterfell will give you the chance to destroy the Boltons. You may come to King’s Landing to execute Cersei Lannister and The Mountain. If the Freys do not support me, it will be by your hand that they die. I promised you, Arya, and I will not break that promise.” She held out her hand to the girl and waited for Arya to grasp it in her own. “But now, I need you to help rally the North. You swore fealty to me.”

 

“Yes.” Arya bowed her head. “When will I depart?”

 

Grey Worm personally selected four men himself and had each demonstrate their ability to Arya. “They will protect you,” he said gruffly. “They will fight and die for you if they must.”

 

“Will they fight _with_ me?”

 

“If that is your command.”

 

The smallest ship from the Greyjoy fleet was chosen to take the small company to the Northern coast. Asha let Arya choose three men from her army. “Several have expressed interest in going with you, but it’s up to you,” Asha informed her.

 

“Can I meet them?” Arya asked.

 

The three she chose in the end had all been with her on the sea. “You laughed at me,” she accused a wiry man that looked to be in his thirties. “You looked at me like I was a fool.”

 

“I was wrong,” he said honestly. “You’re clever to remember exercises like that.”

 

“I had to be clever, to survive on my own,” Arya agreed. “What’s your name?”

 

They were Harwell, Cray and Caleb, the latter two brothers. “Per’aps we can teach each other our fighting techniques on the road, Milady,” Caleb said cheerfully. His fascination with Arya was evident, but Cray shot him a look and he immediately sobered up.

 

Four Dothraki warriors came forward of their own accord to see her to the Wall. Out of them, only the oldest spoke any of the language and it wasn’t much, but it turned out that they both spoke enough Braavosi to fill in the gaps. “We go with little wolf girl,” he said to Arya, bending a knee so that they were of a height. She nodded solemnly and touched the scythe blade he held out to her as an offer. Satisfied, he stood and spoke rapid-fire Dothraki to the others. They each nodded to Arya and dispersed to gather materials for the journey.

 

The ship was prepared that night, and by dawn they set sail for the mainland.

 

Arya didn’t look back.


End file.
